


Getting Better

by TransManWillGraham (BisexualHannibalLecter)



Series: Eat Your Heart Out [3]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Background Character Death, Blood and Gore, Childhood Trauma, Crime Scenes, Discussions of Murder, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s01e05 Coquilles, Gen, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Past Sexual Abuse, Rape Recovery, Sexual Tension, Trans Will Graham
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:21:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27747418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BisexualHannibalLecter/pseuds/TransManWillGraham
Summary: Will finally visits Hannibal for a therapy session following the bathroom crime scene incident, and an important truth comes to light.Sequel toBlue PaintandThe Morning After
Relationships: Jack Crawford & Will Graham, Will Graham & Beverly Katz, Will Graham & Hannibal Lecter, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Series: Eat Your Heart Out [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1891141
Comments: 10
Kudos: 106
Collections: Hannibal Bingo





	Getting Better

**Author's Note:**

> Here's the next installment! This also fills the "1.05 Coquilles" square on my Hannibal Bingo card!
> 
> We'll be getting more details about Will's past trauma, but it stops short of Will describing the actual incident. After all the pain and suffering, I hope y'all enjoy seeing Will experience some emotional catharsis.
> 
> As always, heed the tags! Your mental and emotional health is more important than hits and kudos <3

The day after Will’s split from Zeller, he found himself at yet another crime scene. With little coffee and even less sleep, it was far too early for Will to be poking around in yet another killer’s head, but he bit back his complaints as he stepped out of the car, finding Jack waiting for him in the motel parking lot.

“Number seven?” Will asks tiredly. “Something must’ve set him off. The last one was only two days ago.”

Jack shakes his head. “Different case,” he says. “I passed the serial rapist off to a different team. You’ll still wanna prepare yourself before you go in there, though. It’s soup.”

Will barely hears Jack after the word  _ team _ , his mind blanking as he tries to process what the man said.

When he realizes Will isn’t listening, Jack snaps his fingers, trying to refocus Will’s blank, wide-eyed gaze. “You there? Where’s your head, Will?’

Will clears his throat. “On my pillow,” he replies. “Didn’t get much sleep. Did you just say you passed off the case?”

Jack nods. “Yes. No need to think about it anymore. Had some of the interns pull extra hours to get all the paperwork done and the evidence re-assessed. We’re on this case now.”

Will blinks and stares at Jack for a long moment.  _ Why? _ He wants to ask, but he knows the answer. He can still see the concern on Jack’s face when he saw him on the floor, shaking and crying.

“Thank you,” he says, looking away.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. “If you’ve still got your appetite when you’re finished with the scene, we can go get coffee. This should wake you up fine, but I’m sure you need caffeine about as much as I do.”

Will nods. He falls into step alongside Jack as they cross the parking lot. Jack briefs him on what they know so far, which isn’t much, before leading him into the room. Will’s eyes widen at the sight before him.

“I’m awake,” he says. He scrunches his nose at the scent of vomit but is otherwise no more bothered by the scene than most other crime scenes. The blood and bodies were never the worst part.

Will looks around, identifying the live people in the room; Beverly Katz, Jimmy Price, and Brian Zeller. Zeller looks up when Will and Jack enter and offers Will a soft smile. Will smiles back before returning his attention to the bodies.

“Hooks were bored into the ceiling,” Jack says. “Fishing line was used to hold up the bodies and parts of bodies.”

Will nods along to each bit of information shared, theories being tossed back and forth until he is finally left alone in the room. He lays down on the plastic sheet and lets his surroundings melt around him and reform, devolve and evolve as they would have before the killer’s eyes. It’s jarring to perform this task again, so soon after the incident in the bathroom stall, but he pushes that from his mind and focuses.

“This is not who you are,” he says to the flayed corpses posed at the foot of his bed. “You are more now than what you were.”

Will begins to wonder if he’s speaking to the bodies or to himself.

* * *

When his time at the crime scene and the lab is finished, Will heads straight to Hannibal’s office. He’s an hour early for his appointment when he arrives, but he waits patiently in the waiting room until he hears soft footsteps approach the door.

“Will,” Hannibal says, tone soft and cordial as ever. “Please, come in.”

Will rises from his chair without looking at Hannibal, brushing past him and heading for the man’s desk rather than his own chair. He fiddles with his hands at first, then with a random object on Hannibal’s desk. This time it ended up being a paperweight, but oftentimes his fingers would close around a pen or pencil. Once he had nearly sliced his finger open on one of Hannibal’s scalpels. He’s so focused on his nerves that he doesn’t even hear Hannibal until the man is stepping in front of him and gently touching his arm.

“Will? Will, are you alright?” Hannibal asks.

Will thinks about the question for a moment.

_ We can’t just pretend like you were never hurt, Will. We can’t pretend that you’re not still in pain, _ Zeller had said.

Will shakes his head. “I need to talk to you about something,” he says. “About a case I consulted on two days ago.”

Hannibal nods. “The case regarding the serial rapist? I meant to show up as well, but I was out of town.” Hannibal’s fingers put the slightest pressure on Will’s arm, guiding him away from the desk. “Come sit,” he suggests.

Will pulls away from Hannibal and takes a seat, still fidgeting with the paperweight. 

Hannibal takes his seat across from Will and studies him for a moment. “What would you like to tell me about the case, Will?”

Will takes a deep breath. He opens his mouth, and his chest tightens. Frustrated, he curls his fingers tightly around the paperweight until his knuckles are white.

“Take your time,” Hannibal says. “Do not force words, Will. It does more harm than good to open up about issues you wish to not speak about.”

Will purses his lips. “I want to talk about it,” he whispers, eyes glued to the floor. “It’s just hard.” He sits in silence with Hannibal for a moment or two before the tightness in his chest begins to recede. “After I arrived on the scene, there was an incident.”

“What sort of incident?”

Will swallows. “I did what I always do. I read the file, I assessed the scene, I got into the killer’s head.” Will clutches the paperweight again. “And then it all went wrong. One minute I was the killer, and the next minute…I was the victim.”

Hannibal’s brow furrows. “What do you mean, Will? Are your reimaginings of crime scenes not under your control?”

“Not this time,” Will replies, his voice beginning to shake. “I was him, and I slammed the girl into the wall, and then  _ I _ was the one against the wall. And then…” His voice continues to tremble, on the verge of cracking as tears gather in the corners of his eyes. “I saw him.”

“Garret Jacob Hobbs?” Hannibal guesses. “His ghost seems to haunt you with every new case, Will.”

Will shakes his head. “No, no, you don’t understand,” he says, finally looking up at Hannibal.

There’s a frightened and skittish look in Will’s eye, like a cornered animal. Hannibal wonders what could be swirling in his brain to make him feel so defensive.

“Help me to,” he says. “Help me understand, Will. Tell me who you saw.”

“I don’t— I don’t want to say his name. It’s been so many years and it still makes my skin crawl when I hear the name. Sometimes the paranoia creeps back in and I get scared that it’s him, even though I know he’s on the other side of the world right now.”

“Who?”

Will’s eyes drift downward again, focusing on one of the legs on Hannibal’s chair. “The guy who…We were in high school when it happened. I’d known him for a couple years from a youth group. Dad and I had settled somewhere longer than normal and he made me go to church with him. He thought I’d make good friends. I sort of did, except for…” Will swallows again and turns the paperweight in his hands. “I met him real early in eighth grade. He was a couple years older, a sophomore, but he was really nice to me. Barely any of the other kids would speak to me, in class or at church, but he took to me real quick.” Will smiles bitterly. “Should’ve been a fucking warning, but I was just happy to have a friend. We talked a lot— sat together at lunch, shared the couch in the youth group meeting room, shit like that. He told me a lot of things, and I told him a lot of things.”

“You trusted him,” Hannibal says, tone even, perfectly masking the anger that had begun to boil and spread under his skin. “He was your friend.”

“Emphasis on was,” Will replies. “I thought…After everything we’d told each other, I thought I really could trust him. It was so nice to have someone to talk to. I mean, I had my father, but it just wasn’t the same. I hadn’t had any close friends up to this point and it was so refreshing and I was so happy and I was  _ so fucking stupid, _ ” he says, the tears finally rolling down his cheeks. He drops the paperweight to cover his face.

“Will,” Hannibal says softly. “Whatever transpired between the two of you, it was not your fault.”

“I didn’t even say anything,” Will says, voice muffled by his hands. “I should’ve said something. I tried before it even started, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“Will, what happened?”

Will rubs at his eyes with his palms and straightens up. “It was late July,” he says, sniffling. “He started dropping hints that he was attracted to me. I tried to shut it down, but he was persistent. I even tried coming out to him. I trusted him enough not to say anything, but I also thought it might put him off.”

“You were both men, what impact would it have for you to come out?”

Will is temporarily shaken from his discomfort by surprise. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, “I forgot I haven’t told you. I’ve had my medical records sealed and I don’t tell anybody who doesn’t need to know.”

“Know what, exactly?’ Hannibal presses gently.

“That I’m trans,” Will replies, squirming slightly.

“Oh,” Hannibal says. “That does help make your earlier statement make more sense. I hope you know that I would not use this information against you, nor divulge it to anyone else without permission. Regardless of whether you consider us patient and psychiatrist or not, I consider us friends, and I would never betray a friend in such a way.”

Will shifts in his seat, still impossibly restless. “Good.” He licks his lips, his throat suddenly feeling dry. “So, back to what happened. Um, I tried to tell him I wasn’t a girl, that didn’t go over well.” Will frowns. “Actually, I’m going back to angry now because I fucking remember something he said and I still want to strangle him for it. I’ll rationalize being sexually abused by him until I can’t keep my eyes open, but him saying he wants to make me  _ feel like a woman _ is what pisses me off.” Will laughs bitterly and rubs his eyes again, this time out of exasperation. “It’s been so long since I’ve opened up to anyone about this, I’m sorry if I’m all over the place.”

“Not at all, Will. There is nothing for you to apologize for,” Hannibal says. “You’ve been through an emotional and traumatizing experience. You do not need to apologize for expressing how you feel. Especially after so many years of keeping it to yourself.”

“Bottling it up is what I do best,” he responds with a shrug. “It’s so much easier to shut your mouth and act like it didn’t happen.”

“Why is that, Will?”

“Because…” Will takes a deep breath. “Because it’s been twenty-two years since it happened, and he’s halfway across the world, and I can still feel his fucking hands on me. Because what he did still affects me, still causes episodes of depression and self-blame and self-hate and hypersexuality and suicidal thoughts, and I haven’t even seen his face since I was a junior in high school. Because time and distance have not removed the power he has over me and the fact that he fucked me up to a point that it seems as if he has tainted every single fucking facet of my personality. Because you’re the first person I’ve opened up to about this in over a decade and I…I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do about any of it. I don’t know how to feel normal again.”

Hannibal purses his lips, looking conflicted. Finally, he says, “You are never going to feel normal again, Will. One cannot experience trauma and go back to who they were before. You have to accept that what you went through had an impact on you before those wounds can truly begin to heal.”

Will swallows. “Easier said than done.”

“I know,” Hannibal says.

_ You don’t, _ Will wants to say.  _ You don’t know. _ But something in Hannibal’s eyes tells Will that he understands.

“Were you…?” Will asks softly.

Hannibal tilts his head, studying Will for a moment as he registers the question. “No,” he replies. “I was never treated like you were. But I did go through something that haunted me until I finally allowed myself to confront it and accept it.” Hannibal uncrosses his legs and leans forward. “Tell me, Will, what is it that you think will make you finally feel safe from this man’s grasp?”

Will doesn’t have to think about his answer. “His death.”

Hannibal’s expression remains unreadable as he laces his fingers together. “Do you want to kill him, Will?”

Will shakes his head. “No. No, I’m not a killer, Dr. Lecter.”

“But you killed Garret Jacob Hobbs,” Hannibal points out.

“That was different! I was saving someone when I shot Hobbs.”

“Would it be incorrect to say that if you were to kill this man that hurt you, you would be saving yourself?”

Will opens his mouth, then clamps it shut. He clenches his jaw and grips the armrests of the chair as he searches for a  _ no, _ but he can’t find one.

“I can’t kill him, Dr. Lecter. I would never,” Will says, words sounding insincere in his own ears.

“Because you think you aren’t worth saving.”

It isn’t a question this time, rather a matter of fact Hannibal had inferred as he listened to Will. Will once again seeks to deny Hannibal, but he knows he cannot. Tears gather in his eyes and spill over.

“E-even if I tried…I can’t stand the thought of being in the same building as him. I wouldn’t be able to…” Will says. “I  _ can’t _ kill him. He’ll just have to fuck off and die on his own time, and I’ll be sitting here waiting to piss on his grave until then.”

“What if someone else killed him?”

Will’s head snaps up. “What?”

“I said what if—”

“No, I heard you. But… What?”

Hannibal fixes Will with an intense stare. “How would it make you feel? If someone killed him for you, how would you respond in that situation?”

“Do you want my honest opinion, Dr. Lecter?” Will asks, feeling an uncharacteristic lack of apprehension. There’s something disarming about Hannibal’s tone and eyes, something calming, like one too many glasses of whiskey on a cool afternoon.

“I always want the truth from you, Will. I cannot help you if you are not honest with me. I cannot solve a problem without all of the facts present.”

Will swallows and gives him a slight nod. After several more moments of consideration, the words slip out, as if Hannibal’s fingers reached down his throat and coaxed them out himself.

“I would feel happy. I would feel… grateful. I’d want to meet them, talk to them, maybe even have dinner with them.”

“Dinner?” Hannibal asks, intrigue lacing his tone. “That sounds like a near-romantic turn of events to me.”

Will averts his eyes. “I didn’t…” He pauses and licks his lips, then looks back to Hannibal. “I would love them. If someone killed him for me, I would love them. I want him dead and gone more than anything else in the world, and if someone took care of it for me, I would love them. That’s the truth, Dr. Lecter.”

Hannibal tilts his head ever so slightly. “What if they brought you something? A… trophy, if you will. Proof, perhaps.”

“Would it be too cliche to suggest his heart?” Will asks. He smiles softly as if he’s only making a joke, but his tone betrays something more serious.

“I can’t imagine someone like him would have much use for it.” Hannibal smiles as well, showing off a set of sharp teeth, almost too animalistic to belong to a man.

Every hair on Will’s body stands up. He isn’t sure if he’s reacting to Hannibal’s words or the brief display of fangs after he spoke.

“Neither can I,” Will replies, trying to ignore the growing warmth in his cheeks. “I don’t know what we would do with it, but I think I’d like to see it. Perhaps on a silver platter, set up like a meal.”

There’s a slight shiver that passes down Hannibal’s spine. Will catches it, but says nothing.

“And then what?” he asks, barely able to contain the eager note in his voice.

“We would have dinner— me and the person who killed him. And after that I…I think I would want to take them to bed. I’d want to replace the feeling of his hands with the feeling of the hands that killed him.” 

“Those hands committed a dangerous, violent act, Will. Do you think trusting someone like that with your body is wise?”

“I would like to see how gentle they’re capable of being. I want to feel the passion I inspired that caused someone to kill for me.” Will is suddenly aware of an uncomfortable wetness between his legs, and whatever spell that had come over him breaks. He straightens up, saying, “Hypothetically speaking of course.”

Hannibal stares at Will for a moment longer, as if studying him, before sitting up as well and smoothing out the wrinkles in his slacks. “Hypothetically,” he says, nodding. “Of course. That was the purpose of this exercise. We are only speaking of hypotheticals, and there is no judgment. Was the fantasy too immersive? Are you feeling uncomfortable?”

Will shakes his head. It had been good—  _ too good. _ He wants to think about it more. He wants to lean back and listen to Hannibal’s voice guide him further into his thoughts, keeping him only slightly tethered to the world around him as he imagined hands on him, hands covered in the blood of the man that hurt him, caressing him and massaging him and setting off every pleasurable nerve in his body. He wants to touch himself, here and now. He wants to get himself off to the fantasy, to fade into it, only for Hannibal to pull him back out of it when he’s finished to praise him.

_ Oh. _ That is  _ several _ shades of inappropriate. Will swallows and tries to push the thoughts away now, tries not to imagine Hannibal’s fingers carding through his hair or his voice whispering comforting words. He can’t do this. It’s—

“Will?” Hannibal asks, breaking Will’s train of thought.

“What?” Will asks hazily, eyes slowly refocusing.

“You zoned out. I was worried that you were getting anxious and that it was overcoming you.”

“Oh.” Will shakes his head. “No, no, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just got distracted by a thought. Sometimes my brain settles on something and my attention shifts completely.”

Hannibal smiles. “I’m glad there is nothing of concern taking place.” He checks his watch. “Half of our time has gone by, and I believe you have made considerable progress. If you wish to, we can change the subject, or we can sit in silence. You’re welcome to browse the bookshelves if you’d like.”

Will bounces his leg. He feels the odd sensation of dry tear trails and thinks about how quickly he went from upset to aroused. Disgust twists in his stomach.

“I never finished telling you what he did. I barely started.”

“That’s okay, Will. You don’t have to go through every detail in one sitting. If you want to take a break from the subject, that’s okay.”

Will taps his thigh for a moment as he considers Hannibal’s offer. “No,” he finally says. “I want to tell you everything. I don’t want to bottle it up anymore.”

“Go on, then,” he encourages softly. “I’m listening.”

* * *

Even as the bodies pile up, Will feels lighter. Opening up to Hannibal—really,  _ truly _ opening up about everything he feels—has a tremendous impact on his mood in the following days. He is still stressed, still frustrated, but there is an underlying current of comfort propelled by Hannibal’s soft mantra of  _ it’s okay, Will. _

It isn’t perfect. It isn’t over. He isn’t healed. But it’s a start.

His mood change doesn’t go unnoticed by his coworkers, Zeller, Price, and Beverly, who all flash him smiles as he walks in for another day of examining evidence and shoving the pieces together, hoping for a picture that makes sense this time.

At the end of the day, Beverly approaches Will, stopping him with a tentative hand to his shoulder as he begins to leave.

“Hey,” she says softly, despite them both being well out of earshot of Zeller and Price. “You seem to be better lately.”

Will smiles. “Yeah, a little. I’m still struggling with…” He gestures vaguely to the room. “All of this. But some other things have been going better in my life.”

“Oh?” Beverly asks, shrugging on her coat. They begin to walk out of the lab. “Do tell. I could use some good news after today.”

“Just healing old wounds,” he tells her, pressing the button for the elevator. He focuses on the blinking number as it grows closer to their floor. “Dr. Lecter has been helping me get over some stuff.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Like, with a friend, over a drink?”

Will swallows. He considers Beverly’s offer and what it entails— opening up to another person, to a friend.

“It’s a sad story,” he warns. “You sure you want to hear it? I still don’t know if it’s got a happy ending.”

Beverly gives Will a soft, knowing smile. Her eyes shine with emotion. “I’m sure it will.” She steps into the elevator and presses the ground floor button. “Tell you what— you give me your sad backstory, I’ll give you mine.”

Will chuckles. “Deal.”

They ride the elevator down in comfortable silence, and in Will’s mind, he hears Hannibal’s voice telling him he’s doing well, making progress. He smiles.

Things are getting better.

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this story please leave a kudos! Comments are super appreciated! If you want to find/follow/friend me on other platforms, here are my usernames! Don’t be shy! 
> 
> @bisexywill on Tumblr (Main Blog)  
> @bisexual-hannibal-lecter on Tumblr (Writing Blog)  
> @bisexywill on Twitter (Writing Updates & Stuff)  
> @baby mongoose#6953 on Discord


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